How to Prank a Freelancer
by tiredpraxian
Summary: Agents Washington and York compete in a high stakes pranking competition– with the fearsome Agent Maine as their target. There are, admittedly, a few close calls...


"So do I get paid for this?"

"Ha ha! Only in my respect! But sure, I'll throw in a fifty for it too."

"Aren't you doing this thing too?"

"Doesn't mean I can't put a little in the betting pool."

"There's a betting pool?"

"Yep. I think Wyoming put a couple hundred in, but I don't know if he used dollars or whatever British people use for money."

"What's the pool on?"

"Well there's the one on who succeeds in pranking our illustrious single-digit heavy. And then there's the one where we hopefully survive." York flashed a grin, and Washington groaned.

"So if I win... then I get money."

"Correct."

The young man grimaced dramatically, squinting thoughtfully while he rubbed his chin. "Nnnnnyeeeaaah okay fine, I'm in. Can I have some money up front, though?"

York threw his head back with a raucous laugh, clapping a heavy hand on Washington's shoulder. "Heh-heh-hell no! Sorry buddy."

* * *

Wash started with a classic; plastic wrap over the door. He'd called Maine over to see something in the locker room– not a straight up lie, as he'd found an old 21st century blog drowning in cat pictures that he knew the gruff heavy would love.

Washington pored over the slew of beautiful felines on his datapad while he waited for Maine to arrive and fall into his trap. The door hissed open, and Wash looked up with a grin at the ready. It quickly switched to something vaguely horrified as he watched the next few nanoseconds with mounting fear, while the plastic wrap impeded the progress, and stuck to the helmet, of one of Project Freelancer's most fearsome women.

" _Gah_! What the hell– fuc– _damnit_!"

The young soldier leapt to his feet as the other Freelancer managed to free herself with a few wild slashes with a knife. "Agent Texas!" Wash's voice shot up in pitch. "Heheheh– I, ah, could have sworn you were shorter! Damn, are you wearing platforms or something?"

"Agent... Washington..." Texas's hands balled into fists, and she glowered through her helmet in a way that was tangible, much like how Washington thought flesh-roasting lasers would be tangible, should he ever encounter any. "You don't need a good explanation for this because I will _kick your ass_ either way!"

"Look, I'm super sorry about this, really. It was meant for Maine! I didn't think someone else would come in!" All Washington's training had flown out the window; wasn't his head supposed to be, like, locating escape routes in emergencies? This counted as an emergency for sure, but all Washington could do in his mind-space was scream at the terrifying force of nature barreling towards him.

A gauntleted hand grabbed Texas's arm, and the woman stopped to kick his ass too, only to pause when she saw Maine's dark expression.

A flicker of fire lit the space between them. "I'm afraid we can't let you dismantle Agent Washington at this junction, Agent Texas." Sigma's voice, smooth and low with that faint baritone echo, seemed to cool Texas's anger just a little bit.

"Well he'd better make sure I won't stumble into any more of his pranks because if that happens again, I _will_ kill him." Texas ended the sentence with a dark look back at Washington.

"Yeah I'd rather stay living." Wash lifted his hands, taking a small step back.

Texas snorted, wrenched his arm from Maine's grasp, and stormed out without getting whatever she'd come to grab.

Sigma turned his attention to Wash now. "It wouldn't do to get yourself killed over so small a trifle, Washington. I'm sure Maine would be quite upset should you die."

The blond flashed a lopsided grin to the heavy as the tiny flame-man winked out. "Gee, thanks Maine. Anyway, so I called you to see these cat pictures..."

* * *

"Tickling a sleeping dragon are we?"

Wash nearly leapt into the air, hand flinching perilously at the words stage-whispered into his ear. "Holy shit Florida, what the hell!" He hissed the words out with an accompanying glare, and the blue-clad man chuckled jovially.

"I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't test you in all terrains, Agent Washington." Florida's eyes twinkled in a strangely fatherly sort of way, and he leaned forward conspiratorially. "I heard about your bet with York through the grapevine. Very brave of you to step up to the challenge."

"Uh, thanks." Wash glanced down at the man on the couch before him. "Could we talk about this later?"

"No mission is without its distractions, Mister Versatile!" Agent Florida wagged an admonishing finger. "Carry on, I'll be right here."

Washington grimaced briefly. And here he thought he'd hit the jackpot, finding Maine asleep in the rec. room– Florida was gonna blow the whole thing!

Agent Washington is nothing if not determined, however, so he leaned over the couch once more, felt-tip marker held delicately between his fingertips. The effect would be tame, as far as pranks go, but given who Maine was, Wash felt certain that the risk factor more than made up for the comparative lack of embarrassment.

Nose first. Wash lowered the marker towards the tip Maine's nose. No sooner had he touched Maine's skin, however, Florida spoke up.

"So what are you planning to draw, hm?"

Washington jerked his hand back, sucking in a breath. Maine remained in slumber, though, and Wash cast a dark look at the blue agent at his side. Florida just smiled that perpetual smile of his– all white teeth and twinkling eyes. Not for the first time, Washington wondered if he wore that smile during missions too. Probably did, if the occasional laughs and chuckles Wash heard over the comm. links were any indication.

"A, uh, a cat." Wash bit back the frustrated words that had built on his tongue.

"A classic, lovely. Well don't let me stop you, Agent Washington." Florida's smile grew a little bit wider.

Wash inhaled and exhaled a few times to slow his hammering heart. Shit, he shouldn't have done this. Awake and self-restraining Maine was all well and good, but no soldier is without reflexes, especially whilst asleep.

The blond began to lower the marker again, holding his breath as though it might steady his hand. He paused an inch from Maine's face, just to see if Florida would talk again. When he didn't, Wash continued.

Closer... Closer... The marker had just touched Maine's nose when yet again a voice spoke up– though this time it was accompanied by Maine's eyes flying open with startling speed.

"Agent Washington, do you require something?"

Wash reared backwards from the little flaming guy looming in front of his face. "Nothing!" His voice sounded a little shrill. Washington coughed. "Um, nothing, Sigma."

Maine sat up, brow furrowed quizzically as he looked from Wash to Florida– the latter wore a jocund grin, clearly amused by this turn of events. Maine grunted something unintelligible when his eyes fell to the marker in Wash's hand.

Washington stared at the tell-tale marker. "Uh, heheheh..."

Maine rolled his eyes and stood up, rasping out another wordless growl. Sigma flickered. "Be thankful you weren't successful in your endeavor, Agent Washington." The AI hologram clasped his hands behind his back. "It is unwise to disturb an agent's slumber– especially one so dangerous as Agent Maine."

"Noted." Wash, grin a little bit wobbly, flicked a salute towards the large man and his strange AI.

Maine grunted, and Sigma flickered out of sight. Maine nodded to Wash, lips tilting in some imitation of a smile before returning to an empty scowl. Then he turned and left.

Wash heaved a sigh.

"Well that went better than expected!" Florida winked at the blond Freelancer. "I'll be sure to put 'capable of keeping his composure under duress' in your official records."

"Shut up, Florida."

* * *

Agent Washington looked on with a bemused expression as York employed North's assistance in putting him into the rubbish bin in the rec. room.

"Dare I even ask?" Wash tilted his head, crossing his arms.

"It's a family reunion," York deadpanned. "Whaddya think, I'm lying in wait for my victim!"

"There are so many ways this could go wrong, I don't know where to start," North commented, working with all his might to squeeze York into a bin that was just a little too small for the breadth of his shoulders.

York shook his head when the platinum-blond Freelancer rubbed his shaved head. "The pros outweigh the cons here, amigo."

Delta appeared in a flash of green light. "Might I add, York, that Maine is not the only Freelancer to use this rubbish container."

"No you may not, D." The one-eyed man cast his AI a crooked grin.

"You know, I've seen enough pranks-gone-wrong to know that you'll probably end up getting slugged in the face." Wash rolled his eyes.

"Thanks for the input, buddy, but I think it's a little late." York hunkered down. "Close the hatch, North!"

Delta raised a glowing hand. "Maybe you should wear a helmet, Agent York, in case Maine or some other highly-trained soldier should react poorly to your... surprise..."

"D, we've already delayed enough. Maybe next time."

"I sincerely hope there will not be a 'next time'." Delta replied before winking out of sight.

North thumped on the plastic cover of the rubbish bin. "Good luck, man. Wash and I will be watching from the other side of the room." A muffled snort was their only reply, and the two men sat down on one of the couches a strategic distance from York's makeshift jack-in-the-box.

Wash was a bundle of nervous anticipation. Every time someone came in he tensed, expecting them to go right up to the trap York had laid. Wyoming came and left with a chatty Florida. Carolina stumbled in to get coffee, deep crow's feet beneath her eyes, only to stumble back out with nary a glance at the rubbish bin. Texas paused by the doorway in consideration, but left just as quick when she saw North and Wash on the couch.

The young soldier was beginning to wonder if anyone would trip York's snare when South walked in. She looked frazzled, her ponytail in disarray, and Wash guessed that she'd just finished some sort of training simulation, since she wore full armor but for the helmet.

The two Freelancers watched in fascinated horror as South filled a cup with coffee, downed it in four gulps, and started for the rubbish bin. Wash felt as though the whole thing passed in slow motion; South approached the bin at a snail's pace, and the extension of her gauntleted hand took a century.

Then she lifted the lid and York lurched upward with a roar. South let out a scream, lashing out with a clenched fist that landed squarely on York's cheekbone.

"Son of a bitch!" South screeched. York listed to the side, hand flying to his face.

"Holy shit!" York yelled in reply, hunching over.

Washington had gasped in horror when it finally happened, but it was not so for North. The tall man threw back his head and laughed, gasping for breath until he'd fallen from the couch, convulsing on the floor as his face turned red.

South rounded on her brother, eyes blazing. "God _damnit_ North!" She stalked towards the pale blond man.

"Wait! Wait wait wait..." North lifted a hand to stave off his twin's fury. "Just –oh my goodness– just let me catch my breath." North leaned back against the foot of the couch, wiping away a few tears. "Oh my god that was amazing. You okay over there, York?" North raised his voice to call to the soldier who still groaned, slumped in the rubbish bin.

"I think she broke something." York replied faintly.

North shook his head, eyes shining as he grinned up at his glaring sister. "Good job, South. Good job."

Wash buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Agent Washington sat on one of the benches lining the locker room walls, idly palpitating an inflated whoopee cushion he'd found stashed in his locker. The Freelancer was... well, not reconsidering, of course, but he was considering his options. After Wyoming stormed out of the bathrooms with a soaked mustache and shirtfront (courtesy of some tape under the faucet), Wash realized that there was just... too much risk. He was, after all, trying to prank a single, dangerous man, using pranks that could easily be tripped by other, equally dangerous people. Granted, Wyoming had a cooler head than both Texas and South, but Wash thought himself smart enough to know that being thrice bitten should be more than enough to instill caution, even though the now dubbed 'Trashcan Incident' hurt York rather than Washington himself.

There were always the localized pranks. Waxing the eyebrows, using cord or plastic wrap to bind someone to their bed... but those were usually the 'rude awakening' sort of pranks. The sort that might just spark Maine into a rampage. Wash would have loved to give his friend the benefit of the doubt, but there was no telling what Maine could and would do when shocked into action.

The young Freelancer groaned loudly, pinching the bridge of his nose. If this whole thing turned out to be less than feasible, he could always back out. There was just the small matter of losing everyone's respect and earning their ridicule.

A low, rasping voice growled questioningly from a few feet away. Wash looked up, a swift grin coming to his face.

"I'm good, Maine, thanks."

Maine tilted his head, gesturing to the whoopee cushion and muttering something that seemed to involve the words 'prank' and 'York'. The man in question was a few lockers down, sporting a wonderfully mottled bruise on his face that the medics either couldn't or wouldn't heal. Wash guessed the latter.

"Prank war with York? I, ah, heh, I don't know what you mean." Wash coughed, rubbing the back of his neck. Maine shook his head and let it go. Wash watched as the man took out his Bruteshot and a whetstone, clearly with the intention of sitting down and sharpening the blade whilst glaring about enigmatically.

As Maine's wide, white-clad posterior descended towards the uncomfortable metal bench top, Washington saw his opportunity and acted on it. Quick as a whip he reached out and placed the whoopee cushion just underneath Maine's ass, withdrawing his hand just quickly enough to avoid its getting crushed.

Maine sat down, and a loud, comical farting sound squealed from the whoopee cushion. The look on his face was... uncharacteristically surprised. The look on York's face, however, was priceless; a mixture of horrified, devastated loss and insuppressible amusement.

Washington had little time to gloat his victory, however, because all their comm. links came alive with Carolina's voice.

::Grab your equipment and come to the Pelican, we have a mission.::

Pranks forgotten, the three men quickly began readying their armor and various guns.

"No briefing? That's odd." York put on his helmet, starting a systems check on his armor.

::You'll be briefed on the way. Get moving.:: With a click, Carolina signed off.

"Isn't she beautiful?" Though Wash couldn't see York's face, he could hear the wry grin in his voice.

"I guess." Grey gauntlets lifted Wash's yellow striped helmet. Everything went dark for a moment before the HUD came online and the visor activated. Wash set the systems check, pulling his handheld from its holster and checking the magazine. "Kinda scary, though. But hey, whatever floats your boat."

York laughed, cuffing the younger Freelancer's helmet ineffectually. "Shut up, Wash. Probably better you don't like her, she'd beat you up."

"Like she beat you up?"

"Heh, yeah, like that."

* * *

"So like, did Freelancers ever do anything fun?"

"Fun?" Wash tilted his head. "What's that?"

Tucker snorted. "Don't play that, dude. But really, did you guys just sit around and be serious and bad ass all the time?– or were you _actual_ people."

"Well... York and I did have a pranking competition once." Washington grinned at the memory. "We, ah, had to prank Agent Maine."

"The Meta?" Tucker's eyes widened, and he leaned forward, brow furrowing. "You had to prank the Meta. Dude, the fuck? That's like the worst idea ever. That would be like pranking Carolina!"

"What would be like pranking Carolina?" The woman herself had paused at their table. It was the lunch break for many soldiers in Chorus, including the Reds and Blues. Grif had already taken about half of Simmons's ration.

Wash looked up. "Pranking Maine. My competition with York, you remember that?"

"Yes, actually." Carolina sat down, frowning at her tray. "Who won that? I don't remember a conclusion."

"I think I won it." Washington squinted as he dredged through his memories. "Yeah, I slipped a whoopee cushion under Maine just as he was sitting down. York witnessed it." Wash ran a hand through his hair. "It was before a mission, though. I guess we all just forgot about it.

"Well..." Carolina fiddled with something, then held out a credit chip. "Here's the fifty I put into the pool."

Wash choked. " _You_ put money into the betting pool?!"

"Hey, I voted in your favor."

"Gee, thanks." Washington accepted the offering with a grimace. "You know, I think the only truly memorable prank from that time was the one York accidentally pulled on South."

Carolina laughed, and Tucker spluttered.

"South? That bitch you shot?"

"Uh, yeah, her." Wash shook his head, mentally seating himself a little deeper into his memories. "So what happened was that York made North put him into a trashcan in the rec. room..."

* * *

(A/N: if you think you've seen this before, my sister posted this under her own account back when I didn't have my own ff net account. I'll be crossposting this on Ao3, so check that out if I ever actually get around to that. Review please!)


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